


The Prince of Fire

by mrcheese5728



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Circus, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is Extra, Dancing, Dancing and Singing, Festivals, Firebending & Firebenders, Gen, I love Roman Sanders, Kid Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, No Dialogue, One Shot, Roman is in love with the world, Roman is loved by his people, Roman is soft, Singing, Storytelling, Swords, You can't tell me that Roman wouldn't learn every single arts things about firebending, but ignorable i think, firebender roman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrcheese5728/pseuds/mrcheese5728
Summary: In that festival, Roman performed by himself in a one-man show. He reached towards the sky, and controlled a dragon made of fire. His feet left the earth, and he sang a vibrant and thrilling musical as he practically flew among the village commons.The flames danced with Roman and he felt alive.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	The Prince of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I love Roman. I love fire bending. I love dancing even though I can't dance for shit.  
> Romans an arts baby and nothing is gonna stop my lovely gay prince.  
> doesn't really follow canon stuff like at all, and it's a bit of a blend of different things so REALLY the only similarities between this and ATLAis fire bending exists, and so does a fire lord. And my dearest Roman is a prince, of course.  
> This is for my darling friend Cas! We were talking about ATLA TSS AU and I felt INSPIRED and their amazing so, writing! It is a one shot of something else I'm working on but like who knows when I'm gonna post that.

Even from a young age, Prince Roman had felt the vivid connection to his element. He grew up with the feeling of the sun in his soul, an intimate and passionate connection that made his fingers tingle with anticipation and his feet leap off the ground in excitement. The royal staff were very fond of this boy, who ran around the palace to gift people with the wonders of his imagination. It would be very frowned upon by his father, if he knew, but the palace staff would never wish for the halls to be empty of stories about the young prince's great imagined adventures.

And there was no denying that he was, in fact, a prince. Far more princely than any other prince the elder staff had seen, and it warmed their hearts to see the young boy so excited with his title. They were excited to see this brave, passionate child rule their great nation one day; there was no doubt he would rule it well.

Romans imagination and creativity did not diminish as he aged - it grew like that of a great bonfire, burning greatly for all to see, and hungry for more to burn even bigger flames. Perhaps that was what fueled his desire for adventure. 

Roman did not like being enclosed, did not like to be shackled in any sort of way, as there was never a royal or villager unsaved from a cage within his stories. Roman was a creator of happy endings, and a chaser of freedom that led to him craving more of the beyond.

He snuck out of the palace often to watch the street acts of performers, who traveled to the Fire Nation Capital from all over. These people truly knew what freedom meant.

There was a group of women who moved like they never touched the earth, with great leaps in the air and elegant flames flowing along with their arms and legs. Their clothing was vibrant and eye catching, dazzling with jewelry that sparkled from the sun and flames. Every moment grabbed Romans attention, shaping an eye-catching performance.

There was another group, one that perfected the art of mesmerizing a crowd with the seemingly inhuman movements of their body, moving almost as if they could escape from the very air that surrounded them and fly towards the sun. Their flames were seldom used until the end, where they mimicked the impossible wild dance of raging flames in a way that seemed untamable.

One troupe told a story of people within the flames - building a captivating story with an engaging song that drew you to the edge of your metaphorical seat every time without fail. Stories of spirits and animals, of lovers and best friends. Warnings and lessons, told with the art of the flame.

Then there was a team of slender bodies and lithe forms, who were covered in bold paints and used each other to reach towards the sun: standing on one another in jaw dropping forms and flinging each other in the air amidst bright flaming circles. They truly desired to embrace the sun.

One group in particular danced like a flickering flame, with quick steps and movements so fast they seemed to transform into a blur of golds and reds before Romans eyes and yet freeze in an unpredictable instant. They were truly wild, almost unearthly in the sharp and fierce movements they made, but magnificent nonetheless.

Roman asked each and every one of them to teach them their ways. He too, wanted to move like an open flame and embrace the sun. 

The dancers had of course laughed, but they were amused enough to teach him the basics. He was a bit clumsy and still learning bending as it was, but it did not stop him from trying to _be_ one of them, any of them.

The storytellers caught onto his own stories with surprise, and were eager to teach him how to bring his own stories to life - literally. Storytellers, they said, saw the true being of fire. How it was ferocious in battle and yet festive among the people, and how it could eat anything in its path but still fill bellies of hungry people or chase the chill away. Not, they laughed, that a member of the Fire Nation had to worry about being cold.

Roman was a sponge for these lessons, wanting to capture the very essence of himself and fuel a flame with it. He was not an angry child, and did not like when others were angry. Angry flames were dangerous - all fire is - and seemed harsh, disrespectful. Roman did not see the curious flames the troupes used as cruel, or the smooth flames the dancers used as vicious. He rather disliked it when his royal tutors told him otherwise, when he listened that was. 

Maybe there was a reason he didn’t listen to them. 

Roman kept returning to the performers, whenever they visited his city. They continued to teach him what they knew, and Roman clung to it with a desperate grip that not even the harshest hand could break. 

The masters who taught Roman were displeased with his bending and forms. Not angry enough, they said. Not dangerous enough, they said. 

Roman frowned at them when they made comments like these, but with the eyes of their nation's leader and his father on his back, he nodded and tried to take their advice. It felt wrong, to be fueling his flames in such a way. _Don’t you feel how strange it is?_ Roman wished to ask. _Does your bending ever make you feel uneasy, fueled by such hate?_

Roman did not say these things out loud. He didn’t think they would understand anyway. 

So he did not practice the forms taught by the people in front of them. He practiced, without flames, at night in his room in front of his mirror, which was appropriately sized for a prince such as himself. It was difficult, but never let it be said that he was not determined when he wanted to be. 

It should have been strange, jumping from style to style like he did. It should have been messy for Roman to continue to bend his flames in such drastically different ways, but it wasn’t. For him, it was as easy as breathing. When he had mentioned this to a woman with jewelry all over her face, she had laughed at him. _Don’t you know that air gives fire life?_ She had said with a golden edged smile. 

_Weak,_ said the palace masters.

 _Passionate,_ said the people.

Roman, who craved the praise with a desperation no child should have, grabbed the words from his people and used it to build his strength - his pride. His forms became even more passionate. A blend of elegance, speed, and seemingly untamable movements. 

Roman did eventually learn the traditional way. It was required of a prince, and Roman loved being a prince. It had something to do with him not wanting to know the consequences of what would happen if he didn’t, too.

As the years went by, the performers came and went. Disbanded, and got together. Traveled, and returned. Roman was determined to learn from them all. Stealing lessons from one style and applying it to another style made people blink in surprise, for they had never seen a teenager move quite like this before. He learned from the circus, from the folk dancers, the quick-stepped partners. They whispered about him to one another, talking about this child who had picked up dancing and fire bending like a true prodigy, who could shape fire into something truly magnificent.

It was when the performers started to come to the city for _him,_ that Roman knew he was doing something right. They wanted to _teach_ him, to give him the gift of another way to show his passion. 

He wasn’t sure when he picked up singing - perhaps it had started with the storytellers, who luckily were local to the city Roman most frequently snuck out to - but it too, was something he turned into his own. Something he prided himself on doing well, and walked around with him wherever he went. When the palace halls were not filled with his never ending stories, they were filled with loud and grandiose songs. Some original, some from plays, some from the cities. The prince truly had a flair for the dramatic, if he somehow managed to make humming and whistling into an entire song itself was an indication.

If there was no music or stories to be heard, then there was no sound at all. The servants walked on soundless feet, and every door was shut quietly, and the cooks did not talk amongst themselves. 

His father did not like music. He did not like dancing. He did not like the meaningless festivals in the fire nation, did not like the traveling carnivals. He did not like ridiculous stories. He _especially_ did not like to hear anything other than his own measured breathing within its walls. 

Roman knew this, and it was only in the moments where his father was nearby that he shut his mouth, came back from the clouds, and behaved the way his father expected him to, to the best of his ability. Roman was almost as good at sensing his father (a skill developed from childhood) as he was at fire bending, and he couldn’t tell whether he was grateful to have it or hated it with his entire being. 

Roman was thankful that his father was a busy man. Being the Fire Lord's younger brother did not exempt him from his duties, whatever they were, but Roman didn’t mind as long as it took the eye of his father off his back. It was the only time he did not like being in the spotlight. 

He was sure that he had a mother - he had to have been born, after all. He had never met her, and the topic was _extremely_ taboo. Regardless, he wondered about her. Wondered what she had been like, and how his father had come about her. With such an imagination it was easy to let his mind run wild. 

Among all of his fantasies, there was one consistency to them all - her eyes. They were the only thing that Roman knew, because he had her eyes. A bright brown like the color of umber, and surely to be filled with love and happiness if she ever saw him. 

For as much as Roman lived in his fantasies, he knew that one would not come true. 

Roman loved. He loved dancing, he loved storytelling, he loved bending, he loved singing, and he loved his people. With all the things he loved around him, he noticed that his father did _not_ love him. He never spoke to him unless it was to criticize him, or make him feel lesser. It made Roman feel not so glitter-y (what a lovely phrase the jeweled women said!), and Roman did not love his father in return.

(This was a lie. He loved his father anyway, and he wanted his father to love him back. It was another fantasy that would not come true, but Roman chose to ignore it.)

Roman found it so very, very easy to leave the palace. His trips around the Fire Nation grew beyond the city he explored as a child, and spent longer time away. It had gotten to the point where Roman was away more than he was at home, though he could not bring himself to feel very conflicted about it. 

It was then that Roman discovered a master of the blade. Roman had watched her from a distance, and even while the master looked as small as a beetle-ant, Roman admired the way she moved. He’d seen how the jeweled dancers moved, and while she surely had the balance of a dancer, she was _powerful_ in a way that Roman could not describe. She moved with the blade as if she was one with it, in a way that mirrored bending and yet somehow put any and all bending to shame. Roman began to feel his fingers tingle with excitement - the same excitement he got _whenever_ he wanted to learn something new. 

(Do you ever give it a rest? _The man with bold colors on his chest asked with a grin._

Never, _Roman replied with a bright smile.)_

He was knocking on the door of the mansion before he realized what he was doing. 

The sword master had been extremely amused that a practically bouncing Roman was at her door. Her butler was not, but Roman didn’t think he was ever happy.

She’d agreed to teach him.

And so, Roman had begun sword fighting. Somehow, it was entirely new and something that felt as natural as dancing. It was a different experience from bending or anything the arts had to offer, and Roman soon fell in love with it as well.

The master - Sasha - was an _excellent_ teacher, Roman found. _She could have been a princess in another life,_ Roman thought. She was prideful, but not arrogant, and held an air of confidence in herself that would shake even the more stable foe. She moved the sword like she was going to use it to change the world, and it was beautiful to watch up close. 

Roman moved with confidence and powerful grace, and Sasha had never seen a person use the sword in such a way before. She’d heard, through her rare trips to the city, about a child who had picked up arts as quickly as one took to breathing, and how he was a marvel to witness as the forms shaped him into a vibrant young man.

 _And what is the chance that he managed to find me,_ Sasha wondered to herself. Roman moved like he was destined to have the sword in his hand, so much so that Sasha wondered if that was exactly the case. There would never be a Prince Roman without a sword, one who did not sing with his whole heart, and one who did not create beautiful things. 

Eventually, Roman’s training with Sasha came to an end. Roman never liked to stay in one place so long, and his heart desired adventure once more. His sword, made from carbon steel and with a handle that just _screamed_ Roman, was slung on his back. He left with callouses on his hand, a sword, and Sasha threatening him to come visit her or else.

Roman returned to the palace, because he was almost out of money. If his father had noticed he’d been gone for two months, he did not show it; so Roman grabbed more money then last time before departing. Some part of him wondered why he wasn’t needed - why his family didn’t consider him important to the nation. He wanted to be the prince they deserved, but perhaps he should stick to his fantastic, unreal tales of rescuing people instead. 

Roman sighed at the thought, but continued making his way through the current city’s festival. He played with giggling children, dramatically retold his journeys to old market vendors, and burst out into a song number while dragging poor confused (but amused) village people to dance with him.

In that festival, Roman performed by himself in a one-man show. He reached towards the sky, and controlled a dragon made of fire. His feet left the earth, and he sang a vibrant and thrilling musical as he practically flew among the village commons. 

The flames danced with Roman and he felt _alive._

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos fuel my flames :)


End file.
